


Parentes Novam Vitam Novam

by malhagie



Category: No Fandom, characters stolen from media shhhhh, the characters are there they are just really ooc, this is to weird to be tagged with the actual fandoms
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Child Abuse, Gaslighting, Grooming, Guns, Other, Parent Swap, alternate parents - Freeform, different parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27275893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malhagie/pseuds/malhagie
Summary: A very abused and sad teenager makes a wish to have different parents and it comes true! Surely this is a good thing...
Relationships: Family dynamics - Relationship, Father & Son, Father/Mother, Mother & Son
Kudos: 2





	1. Vota

**Author's Note:**

> This is self indulgence the story. I stole some characters and ideas from different fandoms to use in my daydreams and after combining them with my own ideas this nonsense came out
> 
> if you wanna know what fandoms i stole characters from feel free to ask. i feel like if you know you know.

Seth walked his father’s bike down the dirt road, the wheels bouncing against the loose gravel. Night had fallen a few hours ago. The darkness was broken by puddles of light from orange streetlamps that led the way up the lane. He approached the scattered glow of the small trailer park, leaving the lights of the town behind him.

Seth’s stomach was a mess of hunger and anxiety. He had missed dinner and the bike tire popped. His father would be very angry. He had not eaten since lunch at school, as he did not have the money for a snack before work. He had worked a long shift, late into the night. When he got off of work, he discovered that one of his tires was completely deflated. The bike was unrideable, and he was forced to walk home. His anxiety peaked when he saw that the lights were still on in his parents’ trailer. If they had not gone to bed yet it was likely a confrontation would happen.

Seth parked the bike in the garage behind his father’s pick-up truck. He went around to the front of the trailer. He climbed up the porch and opened the creaking front door. He quietly stepped inside, into the kitchen. The small dining table had been cleared off; his parents had eaten dinner without him.

The TV blaring some old sitcom rerun in the living room told Seth where they were. He glanced around the corner, looking into the living room. His parents were parked in their respective chairs. His father with a beer and his mother with her boxed wine. By now they would both be plenty drunk.

Seth turned to walk down the hallway. He had planned to go to his room to study and to just skip dinner for the night. He had two exams coming up in his AP classes and needed all the time to study he could get. But the distinctive creek of his father’s chair as he stood told Seth something else would be happening that night. 

His father stomped over, the force reverberating in the flimsy structure. Seth stood stock still, his eyes focused on the floor.

“You ungrateful little prick,” his father hissed by way of greeting.

Seth tried not to shrink back; he did not know what could have set his father off besides missing dinner.

“I am sorry I am late, I-” Seth tried to explain himself.

“Shut up!” his father roared, cutting him off.

Seth clamped his mouth shut. There would be no negotiations tonight, he would not be able to mention the popped tire either without making the situation even worse. He started off into the space next to his father’s head, too scared to make eye contact with him.

“I found the money Seth,” his father said in a surprisingly controlled voice.

Fear washed over Seth like a cold tsunami. Shouting and yelling was something he was used to. His father seemed to be more in control at the moment, but Seth knew he was raging under the surface. This time his father had time to think, it’s clear to Seth that he has been simmering with anger for hours, just waiting for Seth to arrive home.

Seth swallowed dryly. He thought carefully about what to say but could come up with nothing that would not potentially escalate the situation.

After an extended silence, his father launched into a tirade; “What sort of ungrateful little brat are you? Your mother and I slaved away providing for you all those years and this is how to repay us, squandering money away? Money that could have gone to putting food on the table, helping your mother out with medical bills? What were you doing with that money Seth?”

The money Seth had been hiding underneath his mattress had been his getaway plan. As soon as he turned eighteen, he had been planning to use that money as the security deposit on a small apartment, allowing him to move out of his parent’s trailer. He had dreams of going to college and college was very expensive. He worked hard in his classes, especially his AP classes, to get a good scholarship at a university.

Too late Seth realized that his father's questions were not rhetorical and that he expected an answer. He opened his mouth to speak. His father cut him off with a sharp blow to the side of the head. Seth did not see it coming, his head and neck were wrenched to the side. Half his face exploded with pain.

“Answer me Seth! Why are you taking my money!” his father roared.

“It’s not your money,” Seth said to the floor.

“What was that?” his father growled out.

Seth knew it was a mistake as he said it, but he could take it no longer, “It’s my money I earned it.”

“Your money!” his father shouted, he struck Seth across the face again. It was hard enough that Seth stumbled into the dining table and fell to the floor.

“Your mother and I slave away to keep this house, to keep my truck! And this is how you replay us? You squirrel money away like the greedy little monster you are! Money that could be used to put food on the table, pay your mother’s medical bills! And what do you do with it? You keep it for yourself!” his father was screaming now.

Seth stayed on the floor, knowing that a single wrong move could make matters so much worse for him. 

But of course, his father found fault in all his actions, “Get up you pathetic little weakling, get up!” 

Seth began to struggle to his feet, his head spinning from the punches. Before he could get to his feet his father kicked him hard in the ribs, off balancing Seth and forcing him back to the ground.

“How dare you call yourself my son! How dare you steal from me!” 

The second kick knocked the air from Seth’s lungs, and he continued to struggle to get to his feet. He ended up on his hands and knees staring down at the stained linoleum.

His father grabbed him by his short, choppy hair pulling him up to look him in the eyes, “Don’t you ever pull this shit again.”

He let Seth fall limply to the floor. He stomped out of the house. Distantly Seth was aware of his father’s truck starting and rumbling away. Seth remained on the floor, his wounds smarting.

Seth had worked so hard to save up that little amount of money and now it was all gone. He had sneaked in little bits of overtime, skipped meals and avoided buying things as much as possible. Anything to build up his stash. All that hard work had been squandered now. Now Seths’s meger college fund would be paying for beer and lottery tickets. 

Slowly Seth began to pick himself up off the floor. His stomach rolled, his entire head pounded, and there was a sharp pain in his ribs. His mother’s feet came into view. She was standing over him with a little crease between her eyebrows. 

“Seth, you should have told him about the money. You know how he gets,” she said in her quiet little voice, “You should know better than to set him off like that.”

She padded out of the room, leaving Seth stranded on the kitchen floor.

After a few minutes Seth slowly picked himself up off the floor. His body ached from the blows. He took an ice pack from the freezer and padded silently to the cramped bathroom. He took a few painkillers and held the ice pack up to the side of his face that hurt the most.

He shut the door to the medicine cabinet and looked at himself in the mirror. He had a sullen, dour expression and sunken eyes with dark circles underneath. His face was red with the beginnings of some nasty bruises. 

He didn’t bother brushing his teeth. He slinked off to his bedroom and quietly shut the flimsy door behind him. He kept the light off and climbed onto his lumpy twin bed without getting undressed. 

As Seth laid in bed, waiting for the painkillers to work his mind began to wander. He had planned to study that night, but now there was no way he was going to be able to do schoolwork in that much pain. He pointedly did not think about how he had nowhere to go, no one to support and help him, and no money left to his name. He did not think about how his hopes of having a deposit for a new apartment were now dashed. He did not think about it. He did not cry.

He thought aggressively of how much he hated his parents. How horrible he must have been in his last life to deserve treatment like this. He despised his horrible, controlling, abusive father and his emotionless and uncaring mother. He desperately wished the circumstances of his life were different.

Once the painkillers kicked in, sleep was not long behind. He was so exhausted from school and work and studying that he fell hard and fast into a deep sleep.

Seth woke up a few hours later in the dead of night. The trailer was quiet, he could not hear the TV and no light came in from underneath his door; his parents were not in the main rooms of the house.

Light from the neighbor’s porch light leaked into the room through the venitian blinds over the window. It provided scant illumination for Seth’s small bedroom, but it was enough for him to pick out the close walls and the silhouette of the table he used as a desk.

Seth checked the time on his cheap watch, hitting the indiglo display. It was almost three in the morning. He had gotten several hours of sleep but still did not feel rested. His face and ribs were hurting. He crept out of his bedroom, careful not to step on the places that squeaked as he slunk to the bathroom. He swallowed several more painkillers.

Seth caught his reflection in the mirror. He looked so tired. He felt so tired. He had white skin that was cast pale and sickly in the small fluorescent light above. His hair was choppy, a disheveled mess, the result of cutting his hair himself. It was brown, the same color as the dirt lane he lived on. He always thought the comparison was fitting.

He would have to wait for the painkillers to kick in before he would be able to sleep again. He left the bathroom and stepped into the darkened kitchen. The fridge compressor hummed noisily in the quiet of the night. A large rectangle of moonlight illuminated the area Seth had fallen earlier. He stepped up to the window and gazed out at the night. The moon was full. Seth looked at it, admiring at all the little details on its surface he could see. He fixated on it, it’s white light and the sensation of it on his eyes.

After an indeterminate amount of time Seth turned away. He turned and his eyes fell upon the old landline phone hanging on the doorframe. A memory tickled at the edge of his consciousness. 

He shoved his hands in his pockets. In his left pocket was a small slip of paper with a phone number printed on it. He had ripped it off a poster advertising some sort of psychic service. Seth could not remember the specifics of the advertisement. He could not identify exactly what it was that drove him to tear off the number that day. He knew that he had seen the poster before a few times and dismissed it. But while he was waiting in line at the library, he had time to read the fine print. He still cannot recall exactly what it said but the services they offered had felt real in a way. And besides, what did he have to lose?

He silently stepped over to the phone. Before dialing he listened closely for any noise. The fridge compressor had shut off and he could hear nothing but the trailer groaning as it cooled in the night. Confident that he could not get caught Seth dialed the number. After three long rings the other end picked up.

“Owl Lane Consultations, how may I help you?” A sultry feminie voice said.

“Hello,” Seth said quietly, “Your poster said that you could help me?”

There was a beat of silence and Seth was considering hanging up, “What is wrong with your life?”

Seth swallowed hard, “My father- I am- I- um…” He trailed off, he struggled to find the words to express himself without telling her the ugly truth. 

There was a soft chuckle on the other end. For a moment red rage filled Seth’s peripheral. His grip on the phone tightened. 

“I’m a psychic,” the voice on the other end of the phone said, “You don’t have to explain things to me.”

“Okay, um, I don’t have anything to pay you with,” Seth said, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

“Oh darling, I’m not charging you, not under these circumstances. You will be able to compensate me, I am confident,” the woman’s voice said, “Just tell me one thing, Seth, and I promise to help you. What is it that you want most in life?”

“I want- What I want is-” Seth struggled for the right words, “I want a new chance at life, I want different parents. Ones that are not so… incompetent.”

“Hmmmm,” the silky voice hummed, “That is quite a wish.”

“So, are you going to help me?” Seth could not keep the touch of venom out of his voice. He had trouble believing anyone would do anything.

The neighbors didn’t do anything that helped, his concerned teachers and school counselor didn’t, even child services did nothing.

“I don’t know, can we?”

Seth hung up the phone with a huff. He didn’t know why he had bothered with that stupid idea. There was no hope for him.

By then the painkillers had begun to kick in and his wounds were only dull aches and not pounding with pain. He returned to bed and for once he slept soundly.


	2. Pater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> seth meets his new father

Seth awoke. He felt as if he had not slept at all but closed his eyes and opened them moments later. It felt as if he had woken up while dreaming. The after image of something he had already forgotten burned in his brain as he struggled to make sense of his environment.

Something was off. The room was way too dark, it was pitch black. It was impossible to make out anything in the room. All he saw was different shades of darkness.

Seth sat up. The bed shifted underneath him in an unfamiliar way. It was much too soft, too plush to be his bed. The blankets were soft, thick, and warm. They were not his old thin sheets. 

Seth went to rub his eyes and paused before he touched his face, it would only aggravate the pain of the bruises, but as he thought about it, he realized he was not in any pain. Carefully he touched his face. He felt no pains, no soreness. It was like the blows had never landed. 

His eyes adjusted a bit to the gloom. He could now identify the rectangle of the door where a scant amount of light emanated behind. A fan whirled somewhere in the darkness, circulating the cozy warm air in the room. 

Seth carefully climbed out of bed and placed his feet on the ground. The texture of the carpet was different, he could feel it even though his socks. It was more plush and thicker. 

He held his arms out in front of him and slowly began walking to the door. He stepped slowly and carefully to avoid stubbing his toes. He reached the door and found the nob, he turned it and it opened into a hallway. 

He stuck his head out and looked up and down it. On one end was lined with four closed doors, the other end opened into a room where the light was coming from. Seth followed it.

The hallway opened into a large open plan kitchen and living room. The entire space probably had the same square footage as his parent’s trailer, it was so large. The only light came from a small bulb above the stove, casting most of the space in darkness.

He was certainly not in his parent’s trailer anymore. He was in a house, and a nice one at that. The kitchen looked more modern from what he could tell, there was a full dining table, and there were several pieces of larger furniture in the darkened living room. There were even decorations on the walls, stuff Seth could only see indistinct shapes of in the gloom. There was a fireplace with what he assumed was a taxidermized deer head mounted above it. The house felt cozier than his parent’s trailer. It felt somewhere that could be lived in, not just survived in.

Had the psychic’s nebulous promise come true? Did he really have a new life with new parents?

Seth’s musing is interrupted by a noise coming from the door leading into the kitchen. It’s the distinct sound of a dead bolt being unlocked. The outer door is opened out and then the inner glass one is opened as well. A wave of cold air entered the room, followed by a man. 

Seth’s breath caught in his throat; this must be his new father.

He stepped into the house, shaking snow from his shoulders and hair and stomping his feet to clear it off of his boots. He was vaguely above middle aged. He had long hair that went down to his neck that was pale blonde shot with grey. He was dressed for cold weather. A large duster with another coat underneath, heavy boots, gloves, and a red scarf wrapped around his neck. He was on the tall side and had pale skin.

He finally looked up, straight at Seth.

“Seth, what are you doing up? Can’t sleep?” he asked, his voice smooth.

Seth knew it was best when lying to follow other people’s assumptions and politeness went a long way.

“Yes, sir, I can’t sleep.” he carefully said.

“Well then make yourself useful,” Seth’s new father said.

Seth did not know what he was to do. He watched his father flick on the overhead kitchen lights. The man opened his over jacket and from somewhere in his clothing he produced a gun, a large revolver.

He moved towards the dining table and Seth followed suit, sitting across from him. 

“What are you doing? Get the gun cleaning kit out of the cabinet,” his new father said.

Seth stood. He did not know which cabinet the gun cleaning kit was in. He walked around the table to the kitchen proper and tried a cabinet at the edge of the kitchen. Thankfully his new father’s back was to him and he was not able to see Seth’s hesitation and confusion. He quickly found what he hoped was the gun cleaning kit. It was a plastic container shaped like a suitcase. It had a target shape and an eagle imprinted into the plastic and a brand name that sounded like it could be related to weapons.

Seth turned around and looked at his new father’s back. The man had produced two more revolvers and had laid them out on the table. One by one he unloaded them, flicking the cylinder open and letting the bullets fall out of the chambers and clatter on the table. 

Seth was getting nervous. He did not like guns, and he did not know how to act around his new father. It was clear that this man already had expectations for him. Seth was afraid to disappoint.

He walked around the table and placed the cleaning kit between them. His father swept the bullets into one hand and began to stand them up in a straight line on the edge of the table. Seth opened the plastic suitcase and was relieved to discover that it was, as far as he could tell, a gun cleaning it. It had a variety of wire brushes and rods of different sizes, a towel, and other things Seth could not divine the purpose of. 

His father finished, looking directly at Seth. Seth searched for context clues on what to do but could not guess. 

“Really Seth?” his father said at his lack of action.

The man sighed and reached for one of the weapons. With quick fingers he began to dismantle his revolver. He removed a small screw from the kit and began to unscrew the grips and then paused looking at Seth.

“Well?” he asked, indicating to the other guns on the table. 

Trying not to show discomfort Seth picked up one of the revolvers. He mimicked what his father did. He took the screwdriver offered to him and began to loosen the screws on the grip. 

Seth watches intently as his new father dismantled the revolver and meticulously cleaned it. He works fast and efficiently, and it was hard for Seth to follow his movements. He was done with two by the time Seth is halfway done with the third.

“Why don’t you go back to bed, I’ll finish up here,” the man said.

Seth was relieved, but he can tell his new father is rather unsatisfied with his performance cleaning the gun. He accepted his dismissal without a word, getting up to return to his room. He opened the door and shut it behind him. He navigated by memory to his bed in the darkness. He climbed under the comfortable covers. 

Seth’s mind was reeling from what had happened. His wish, his deepest and most desired wish came true. He had no idea how it happened, why the psychic he called decided to help him, and for free as well. 

Seth struggled to fit his new father into some sort of box in his mind but he simply did not know enough. He carried guns, three revolvers, and used them too if they needed to be cleaned. He did not shout or hit Seth when Seth was not able to perform like he wanted. He just accepted it and sent Seth off without any punishment.

Tension Seth did not know he was holding melted from his body. He let himself sink into the plush surface of the comfortable mattress. Sleep came for him.


End file.
